


empty spaces

by ErraticIpseity



Series: all the king's horses, all the king's men, and the nearly insurmountable complexity of putting things back together again [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sure how to tag that but I feel like it warrants a warning, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), discussion of Jon's ribs and Martin's experience with the Lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErraticIpseity/pseuds/ErraticIpseity
Summary: Empty spaces can be surprisingly solid. There are the spaces Martin feels in his chest, holes where there should be emotions he can’t quite remember. They feel more real than he does sometimes.Exploration of space, touch, and relationships in the aftermath.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: all the king's horses, all the king's men, and the nearly insurmountable complexity of putting things back together again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748629
Comments: 23
Kudos: 182





	empty spaces

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fanart: The Magnus Archives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21045671) by [LineCrosser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LineCrosser/pseuds/LineCrosser). 



> Thanks to Kale ([pleasekalemenow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasekalemenow) on ao3) for beta reading! Without your input this would still be in WIP purgatory on my drive. That said, I've edited since then, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Parts of this were very much inspired by LineCrosser's wonderful fanart, go look at it right now! (do check the warnings though, some are very spooky)
> 
> Warning for: The Lonely, Jon's lack of self-care in s4

**empty spaces**

_One_

Empty spaces can be surprisingly solid. There are the spaces Martin feels in his chest, holes where there should be emotions he can’t quite remember. They feel more real than he does sometimes. There is the space between him and Jon he doesn’t know how to bridge. He built it so carefully, so sturdily, that it stands like a transparent wall. Jon doesn’t seem to sense it, judging from the way he takes Martin’s hand as they walk up the front path. His fingers are warm against Martin’s frigid ones. It sends a shiver up Martin’s arm, and Jon looks up at him, concerned. He smiles back weakly, hoping it’s enough to placate him.

Daisy’s cabin is spartan in its furnishings. It’s only one main room with a small bedroom and bathroom attached. There’s a wood stove, a minimal kitchenette, two mismatched chests of drawers, and one reclining loveseat in a horrific shade of orange. At least there’s supposedly electricity since each room has a dusty lamp or two. The only other furniture is a singular narrow bed in the bedroom, presenting an issue neither of them address.

“Well. This is…” Jon trails off, glancing around the room.

“Minimalistic?”

“That’s one word for it.”

After a quick look around for bodies, monsters, or anything else unwelcome, they bring in their things in from the car. Jon carries out an extensive inspection of the corners and brushes every cobweb away with a rag. Martin finds some slightly musty sheets in a top drawer and makes up the bed. He finds two knives, a pistol, and a package of fire starters in one of the bottom drawers which he leaves alone for now. Jon goes out back to discover a generator and water heater, but isn’t quite sure how to start them, so they postpone that task. Martin is glad the autumn chill hasn’t set in too deeply yet; he doesn’t have the energy to chop wood for the stove tonight.

They get a little more cleaning and unpacking done but quickly begin to wind down. It’s getting dark, and it’s been a long few days. Few years. They don’t have the materials for a proper meal, so they each eat a cereal bar and consider it good enough for tonight. They take turns with the bathroom, and the water is even colder than Martin’s hands.

They don’t talk about it, just crawl into the small bed together like it’s how they’ve always done things. Jon seems to pass out before his head hits the pillow. Martin was sure he’d do the same, but once he’s lying down, he can’t. On their backs their shoulders brush, so he shifts around until he discovers that there is just enough room to leave a gap between them if he sleeps on his side. Except he can’t sleep. Every time he starts to drift, he jolts awake again. The fog of sleep feels too familiar.

The quiet here is so much louder than it was last night in London. An owl asks _whoooooo?_ over and over in a mournful tone, and Martin shivers under the quilt. Jon is a deep and restless sleeper. His face telegraphs his emotions in his dreams, he mumbles, and he keeps reaching out towards Martin, maybe sensing warmth and seeking it. Martin gently pushes his limbs away and presses further against the wall.

At dawn Martin gets up and takes a walk through the pasture behind the house. There’s a low fog rolling across the grass and the sight fills him with an ache that’s familiar and comfortable. It’s still warm enough that there are grasshoppers chirping somewhere. He loses himself for a while in their high static sound and the fog. 

When the sun fully rises over the hilltops, cows begin to low somewhere in the distance, and it frees him from his trance. When he gets back, Jon is still asleep, sprawled even further across the bed than when he left. He can still hear the cows outside. Martin settles into the recliner, and without realizing it, finally falls asleep.

_Two_

They’re face-to-face on the mattress. From his sideways perspective, the wrinkles in the bedsheet make vast snowy hills. A mountain range separating them, one he doesn’t know how to cross.

“Martin. You need sleep,” Jon murmurs. His exasperation is a mirror of how he used to say “Martin”. Genuine fondness and concern make his name sound warm and safe.

“I know. I want to but…” Martin shrugs self-consciously. “Never mind.”

Jon gives him a look. Though it’s not an attempt to See, Martin feels like he’s had his soul stared into in the non-eldritch way.

“I can’t…” he tries to explain. “I don’t like the drifting feeling I get when I close my eyes. It’s like I’ll float away.”

“You won’t. I’ll be here.” Jon reaches out his hand, palm up, an offering.

Martin takes it, then scoots closer and wraps his other arm around Jon’s forearm as well, hugging it to his chest. It’s childish, maybe, but he needs to cling to something right now. He looks to Jon cautiously, for his reaction, and Jon’s mouth has quirked up into a small smile. He squeezes Martin’s hand.

_Three_

Martin still feels like he’s on the verge of dissipating into thin air much of the time. But he’s growing more solid, more tethered every day. Since arriving at the safehouse, Jon has been acting as a beacon of stability. Martin doesn’t mind, but he didn’t expect it. The man he remembers had been taken apart by his experiences, always looking like he was on the edge of a breakdown. He keeps looking for cracks, holes, anything in the façade of someone too calm to have lived what they have lived.

When Jon screams himself awake on the third night it’s almost a relief. Martin is a light sleeper, so he wakes in time to see Jon scramble upright. He’s breathing hard and pressing against the flimsy headboard like he wants to melt into it.

Groggy with sleep, dregs of panic at the sudden awakening still churning in his stomach, Martin doesn’t think twice. He doesn’t even think once. He hugs Jon like he wants to, and Jon leans into him. He feels guilty that seeing Jon like this makes him feel like he can finally relax. They just breathe there for a while until Jon asks to lay back down and they do, and he doesn’t let go.

It’s like the hollow Martin’s body makes when he curls on his side was made for Jon. It’s not that he fits like a puzzle piece. Jon is all legs and angles and elbows. But the void in his chest eases as soon as they fit together like this. Jon doesn’t sleep-talk for the rest of the night. Martin sleeps better than he has in months.

_Four_

They’ve taken to sitting on the bed together during quiet moments, of which there are many. Mostly they read. They rescued a few books from Martin’s flat before leaving and found a few more on their drive up. Daisy had a surprising number of slice-of-life romances squirreled away in one of the kitchen cupboards. 

During one of these times Jon takes Martin’s hand in his. It always sends a thrill through him, like sparks. It’s the deliberateness of the action, and how unnecessary it is. It’s not like the times when Jon has seen him slipping back into isolation and touched him to anchor him. It’s just because.

After a while, Jon’s grip tightens, and he lifts Martin’s hand. He looks over and Jon is looking at him so intensely he’s taken aback.

“What?” he asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No! No. I…you…hm,” he says, brow furrowed in frustration. Then he lifts Martin’s hand and presses a delicate kiss to his knuckles, like some sort of Victorian gentleman.

Martin knows he’s blushing deeply. It’s something his body does, when he’s angry, or embarrassed, or even happy, and he used to hate it. He doesn’t think he’s blushed in months. It’s wonderful.

“Martin?” Jon asks. “Did I break you?”

He realizes he’s been sitting in silence for far too long.

“You can’t do something so…so genteel and expect me to know how to react!” His voice has jumped half an octave.

“Was that not okay?” Jon looks so tense he’s practically vibrating.

“It was perfect,” he says, maybe too vehemently. He thinks his heart might break his ribs with how hard it’s beating. “Can I…kiss you?”

“Please,” Jon says, both awkward and demanding.

Their lips meet, softly, and Jon sighs in a way that’s so beautiful it makes Martin want to write again.

_Five_

As Martin runs his palms down Jon’s sides, his fingers press in. Empty spaces. The skin dips in and he feels the beating heart underneath that he should not be able to feel so strongly. He’s not sure how he hasn’t noticed it before. He freezes there for a moment, unable to let go of the organs beneath thin, scarred skin. Jon freezes too, breaths shallowing. After a long, strange moment, he squirms away and sits up against the headboard. Martin aches at the loss.

“I can feel your heart,” Martin says.

“I should hope so,” Jon replies, flippant.

“ _Jon._ What happened? Where are your ribs?”

“I…I sold them.”

“You _what_ ?”

“Well, actually I sold one and tried to use the other as an anchor for when I went into the coffin. But it didn’t work.”

Martin stares, at a loss for words. It’s so casual. Like he doesn’t matter but for the worth of his skin and bones and blood. He should do something. Comfort him? Shout at him? He’s gone too cold and numb to tell what his face is doing, but Jon looks stricken at the sight.

“They’re only ribs,” Jon says, frantically. “They’re not essential.”

“You’re a person Jon. Your body is part of that.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m so bad at being a person,” Jon says sharply. “It’s been a while since anyone expected me to be one.”

“I expect it. Get used to it.”

Jon purses his lips. He hugs his knees to his chest. He looks small.

“Okay?” Martin asks.

Jon nods, once, and reaches out for his hand. Martin takes it and squeezes. He hopes it makes Jon feel better. Jon’s non-answer is too large to fit in the space between them. Its implications are too much to deal with, and Martin needs to be numb.

_I have to leave first,_ is the mantra pounding in his mind, a thing of habit, but frightening all the same.

He’s not going to leave. But he will be going on a walk as soon as he can bear to let go of Jon’s hand. As soon as Jon doesn’t look like he’s about to break.

_Six_

When Martin gets back from his walk, because of course he comes back, Jon is staring out the window at the fields. The sun is slipping towards distant hills, shadows stretching over the grasses, sky tinted pink. He turns, expectant, when the door opens. Then he crosses the distance between them and hugs Martin with such force he staggers.

“You okay?” Martin asks, when he’s recovered.

“Are _you_ okay?” Jon releases him and pulls back to look him over.

“I’ve been better…but yes. I think so.”

“I’m sorry,” says Jon. “You’ve been too kind to me for years. And I’m still being… _me_.”

“Hey! None of that. I like you,” says Martin. Jon looks doubtful. “Look. There are people things I’m still trying to relearn too. We can do this together.”

“I suppose so,” Jon’s voice smiles with him. “Together, then.” 

Neither of them closed the door, and the sounds of country evening wash over them. Tall grasses sway in a breeze, and swallows chirp as they dip and soar.

“The view of the sunset is good from outside,” says Martin. “And there’s a fallen tree on the hill that’s perfect for sitting.”

As they walk to the sitting tree, Jon takes Martin’s hand, as has become his habit over the past week. His shoulders relax, like the contact absolves him of his doubts. Any remaining distance between them melts. This is how it’s supposed to be. When they sit, Jon begins to trace small circles with his thumb across the back of Martin' hand.

“I like your hands,” says Jon.

“Thanks?”

“And the rest of you.” Jon has the audacity to genuinely smirk at him.

“You’re missing the sunset,” says Martin, face probably the same color as the glowing sky.

“I’ve seen plenty of sunsets,” Jon retorts.

“Not this one! People come from all over the world for Scotland’s scenery, and you want to look at me?”

“Yes.”

Martin has to look away at that, otherwise his ears might just explode. The sky goes from, pink to orange to purple. He sneaks a glance at Jon, who has lifted his gaze to look at the sunset. But he hasn’t released Martin’s hand.

In this moment, there’s no room for emptiness in Martin’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not super confident on this one, but it's been in nearly finished draft purgatory since March so it was time to let it go. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> And thank you especially to everyone who has left kudos and comments on this series so far! I didn't expect such a response and it's been lovely <3


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